


Put It in Drive

by HardNoctLife



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Car Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Gladnis, Gratuitous Smut, Horniness, Ignis Can Get It Any Time, M/M, One Shot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sex in a Car, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 19:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardNoctLife/pseuds/HardNoctLife
Summary: Gladio is tired of the teasing, and Ignis isn't even sorry. When the sexual tension reaches a boiling point, you have to make do wherever you can.





	Put It in Drive

**Author's Note:**

> @beefy_noods on Twitter requested Gladnis car sex, so here ya go.

Gladio Amicitia watches Ignis from where he is kneeling, striking a match to light the kindling within the ring of stones in front of him. The spark takes hold with a sizzling pop, flames reflecting in his amber gaze. Noctis’s primary advisor and confidant is busy setting up a portable grill, intent on making dinner before the sun finishes its descent behind the tree line. Noctis and Prompto are elsewhere—Gladio hasn’t really paid them much attention—but he can hear their chortling laughter drifting up towards the haven, returning from wherever Ignis had sent them off to.

Fanning the flames, the Shield’s eyes track the tall, lithe man as he goes about his task with a level of focus only he seems to possess, completely unaware of the man staring him down only a few feet away. Ignis hums to himself and Gladio pauses, momentarily forgetting what he is doing. The glint of the fire is caught in the tactician’s glasses, captivating the man’s admirer.

The moment is lost when Noctis and Prompto both suddenly loom into focus behind Ignis, popping up over the edge of the elevated camping ground.

“We got what you asked for, Iggy!” Prompto declares proudly, holding out a brown paper bag.

“Ah, excellent.” The advisor takes it from the blond and digs through it, frowning slightly. Noctis and Prompto are both waiting with bated breath, expressions saying they are holding out for the man’s approval. “Hmm, I could have sworn I purchased those Leiden potatoes.” Ignis looks around as if trying to procure them out of thin air.

“Was there another bag somewhere in the car?” Noctis wonders, already sitting in a chair to indulge in the warmth of the campfire.

“No, just the one,” Ignis states confidently. No one questions it—Ignis would know, after all.

“Do we _need_ them?” Prompto is still standing, shifting from side to side like he did something wrong. Ignis smiles a little in an attempt to reassure him.

“Perhaps not, but the recipe isn’t quite complete without them. We passed a rest area on the way here. It shouldn’t take me long to retrieve some if you three aren’t opposed to waiting…?” He looks to each of them in turn, an eyebrow arched.

There are shrugs from Prompto and Noctis. Ignis’s eyes meet Gladio’s as he straightens, the Shield clearing his throat.

“Sure. I’ll go with you,” Gladio says.

The Shield has his hands on his hips, a lazy smile on his lips. It’s a friendly, welcoming gesture, and to everyone assembled, a familiar one. Noctis and Prompto exchange a look and miss the way Ignis’s head tilts ever-so-slightly.

“Very well,” the advisor agrees—and that’s that. Prompto sits down beside Noctis, obviously relieved.

“Think you can handle things while we’re gone?” Gladio asks the prince and his best friend as Ignis begins his trek towards where the Regalia is parked.

Noctis’s face scrunches. “We’re not kids, you know.”

“Could’a fooled me,” Gladio chuckles, then turns to follow Ignis without further comment, losing whatever remark Noctis makes as he hurries through the brush.

As they walk to the car the only sound is the crunching of grass beneath their feet. It doesn’t take long for the two to pass through the forest to the road, the Regalia pulled off on the shoulder beneath one lonely streetlight, which has only recently flickered on. Gladio lets Ignis walk a few steps ahead, keeping his distance, but the energy from the fluorescent bulb isn’t the only thing buzzing in the air.

It happens as soon as the haven is out of sight, the sensation building until Gladio can hardly stand it. Ignis, back still turned, leans down to unlock the door, keys jingling.

_Smack! _

Gladio slams a hand against the Regalia’s door, preventing Ignis from pulling it open. The tactician doesn’t even flinch. Half the time Gladio thinks the advisor has eyes in the back of his head anyway, and he isn’t surprised by Ignis’s lack of reaction. What _does_ surprise Gladio is the sudden laugh, so quiet that he thinks he might have imagined it.

There is a pause, and an unexpected heat blossoms in Gladio’s gut, reminding him of how the match caught the tinder of the haven’s campfire.

When Ignis turns around, there is a glimmer in his eye even though he isn’t smiling.

“You think you’re really smart, don’t you?” Gladio murmurs. It’s low and dangerous, almost a growl. Ignis’s expression remains unchanged in spite of the threat the Shield’s words hold.

“Above average, I’d say.” Ignis may be humble in polite company, but he’s not a liar, and he meets Gladio’s glare head on, arms folding over his pinstripe button down.

That buzzing in the air seems louder now, nearly palpable. Gladio imagines that if he moved his hand to brush against Ignis’s side that he might be shocked by the electricity crackling between them.

“_Four_ times, today alone. I lost track of how many over the course of the week.” Ignis’s lips twitch, so subtle that if Gladio wasn’t watching them, he would have missed it.

“Forgive me, Gladio, but I have no idea what you are talking about.” There is a heavy dose of sarcasm in the airy retort, accent lilting and playful.

Gladio holds his free hand up in front of Ignis’s face, fingers slowly unfurling from a clenched fist as he counts.

“One time at the gas station while you were pumping gas—you bent over because you ‘dropped’ something. The second was at the market when you brushed into me by ‘accident.’ Because grinding your hips into my backside is _so_ difficult to avoid. The third time was when we were leaving the outpost. You walked out of the bathroom with your _godsdamned _suspenders dangling—”

Ignis snorts, and Gladio points a finger in the man’s face accusingly.

“_Don’t_ even, Iggy. When I pointed it out, what did you say?” Gladio is seething, and Ignis looks like he is trying very hard to keep a straight face.

“An honest mistake?”

“An _honest _mistake. That’s right. Honest mistake my _ass_.” Gladio inhales and exhales forcefully. “And fucking _fourth_, you unbuttoned your shirt after lunch—”

“I managed to spill some sauce on it. It needed to be washed.” Ignis huffs a little, hands sliding down to his hips now, one knee bending and going cockeyed. Gladio still hasn’t moved back, and Ignis’s elbow bumps his arm. The Shield inhales, sharper than glass, and steps in close—close enough that he could _lick_ Ignis’s face if he wants to. Ignis looks at him, _really_ looks at him, and it is like a calm before a storm.

The world seems to hold its breath, watching the two of them. Then—

Ignis _smirks_.

Gladio’s stomach drops clear through his body and puddles at his feet. The heat inside him ratchets up to an unbearable temperature, and he’s suddenly sweating, palm pressing more firmly into the car Ignis is leaning against. He’s still holding up four fingers, and the Shield wriggles them now, demanding an answer.

“Five,” Ignis admits demurely, and Gladio gapes at the sheer audacity of the man as he flutters his eyelashes at him from over the rims of his glasses. “You forgot when I leaned over the counter at the diner.”

Gladio’s mouth opens and closes in quick succession. Once he recovers from his shock, he presses his hip points and chest into Ignis abruptly, and the advisor’s smirk becomes a full-on grin. It’s something others rarely get to see—something he has been saving for just this moment.

“You sneaky motherfucker,” Gladio hisses.

“Language, Gladiolus,” Ignis chides, but he isn’t angry. No, quite the opposite, in fact. He’s _enjoying_ himself, and Gladio wants nothing more than to throw him to the ground on the asphalt and ram their bodies together until they’re both bruised and aching. 

Hands on either side of the prince’s advisor, Gladio keeps Ignis pinned to the car with the weight of his body, leaning down to kiss hot against the man’s neck until he moans, sandy-haired head falling back. Gladio continues through his mouth’s assault on the tactician’s skin. “I’ve—wanted you—all week.”

The humming in Ignis’s throat vibrates along Gladio’s lips and a shiver of pleasure shoots through him, but before he can go any further, Ignis presses a hand into the Shield’s chest.

“Here?” it’s innocent and taunting, and it nearly drives Gladio over the edge.

“Yes, _here_.”

“Hmm.” Ignis lifts a hand to his own chin, a finger tapping against his lips. Gladio grabs him at the wrist, placing the same finger into his mouth and sucking slow until Ignis closes his eyes, momentarily losing focus. “Hungry, are we?” Ignis’s voice has adopted the same gruff tone as Gladio’s now, desire apparent.

The Shield’s hips press more urgently, the firmness between his legs no longer able to be ignored. His beard scratches along Ignis’s neck as he whispers his response. “_Starving_.”

Ignis doesn’t miss a beat. “Then if you’d let me prepare dinner—”

The retort is swallowed in a more demanding kiss, Gladio’s hands now grabbing firmly at Ignis’s belt, unbuckling it with deft fingers. There is a _swish_—a gasp—as a hand frees the button on Ignis’s pants.

Not to be outdone, Ignis hooks one slender leg around to hit the soft spot on the back of Gladio’s knee and the Shield nearly falls over when it buckles. He catches himself with a _thud_ against the body of the vehicle, Ignis wedged comfortably beneath him, the advisor’s hot breath warming the spot where his collarbones meet. 

“In—the Regalia—” Ignis urges, hand blindly reaching for the door handle and finding it. Gladio grips Ignis tight around the waist, as if he’s afraid he might run, shoving him into the backseat roughly once the door swings open.

In the span of a heartbeat Gladio takes in the scene, Ignis half-propped on his elbows on top of the dark leather, pants mostly undone and one suspender already slipping free of his shoulders. The advisor is tossing his glasses into the driver’s seat when Gladio crawls on top of him, the door still open to the outside.

Insomnia’s most trusted royal retainer scans Gladio, and it’s a look that you would have to see to believe. Gone is the man’s typical composure and reserve, replaced now with an animalistic appetite—absolutely _ravenous_. Gladio knows the man wants it just as bad as he does, and it makes the Shield’s erection strain painfully against his inseam, begging to be released.

“How long?” Gladio is unzipping Ignis’s pants, pulling up his starched white shirt so fast that the buttons strain and pop open.

“Since we left Lestallum.” Ignis’s head is propped against the window, and his breath fogs the glass when he turns it to groan. Gladio’s tongue has found the line of hair above the hem of his underwear, and it's dipping down to follow its trail, a hand cupping between the tactician’s legs. Ignis wriggles his hips, fabric sliding off with Gladio’s help.

When he has Ignis bare-assed and panting, Gladio takes a moment to kick off his shoes and shrug out of his jacket. It’s an awkward fit for them in the cramped car, but somehow they make it work, and Ignis reaches to grip a hand tight in Gladio’s thick hair as he resumes, tugging slightly as the advisor allows his legs to splay wide.

Ignis kicks one foot into the driver’s seat’s headrest when Gladio takes the length of him into his mouth. “_Fuck_,” he moans, and Gladio chuckles around his shaft, pleased.

“Language, Iggy,” the Shield taunts. This time, Ignis kicks violently into Gladio’s shoulder, which only encourages the man to suck harder. Ignis whines more than moans, arching up desperately.

“I should make you wait like you made me,” Gladio drawls. Ignis manages to squint one eye open as Gladio glances up, tongue swirling around the tip of the advisor’s hard-on. The Shield recognizes the murderous look, usually reserved for the heat of battle or when Noctis is being a smartass.

“You make me wait any longer and it will be the last thing you do.”

“I love when you talk dirty, baby.” A flush colors Ignis’s cheeks and there is a flutter of something stronger than desire in the larger man’s chest. He pushes the feeling aside for now and dips his head down to go back to work, unable to think of anything witty to say. Ignis’s fingers curl within his dark locks once more. It’s only a few minutes later when Ignis squeezes his knees into Gladio’s muscled sides, and the Shield jerks his head up again in question.

“Wait—come here—” Ignis rasps. Gladio knows Ignis must be close, and he relaxes his jaw obediently, saliva and sweat leaving a sheen across his jaw and Ignis’s manhood. Crawling to brace himself overtop of his lover, Gladio watches with amusement and arousal as Ignis undresses him the rest of the way, fussing when Gladio’s zipper gets stuck.

“You should let me mend this.” He is irritated in his impatience, but Gladio can’t resist teasing him.

“And let you think I’m easy? Never.”

“_Gladiolus_.” Ignis is barely able to get the name out, choking. Somehow, it is incredibly hot to see Ignis flustered, unable to string sentences together when he can usually deliver entire monologues without batting an eye. Gladio’s expression must show it, too, because Ignis rolls his eyes and swats at his bare chest.

When Ignis finally frees him of his pants, the Shield breathes a sigh of relief. “That looks painful,” Ignis comments appreciatively, trailing fingers along the man’s member with something close to reverence. Gladio feels the erection jump into Ignis’s palm and has to close his eyes briefly to steady himself. A hand finds its way to the back of Gladio’s neck, and Ignis kisses him sweetly, and somehow _that_’s infuriatingly attractive too.

“How do you want me?” Ignis murmurs. It’s getting steamy in the car, even with one door cracked, and sweat rolls down their skin, making them slide a little on the seat as they shift.

“Every way,” Gladio admits. “But for time’s sake—” his tone drops back to a feral growl. “—I want to bend you over.” When Ignis laughs, it’s like fanning a flame.

“As you wish.” Ignis is turning, and Gladio is already holding a hand out, tugging a container from the depths of Noctis’s armiger. “One day he’s going to find that,” the advisor chuckles as Gladio opens the bottle of lube, positioning himself up against Ignis’s ass.

“Let ‘im. If he hasn’t figured it out by now, he’s dumber than I give him credit for,” Gladio grunts. Ignis makes a noncommittal noise, neither of them wanting to think of anyone or anything outside the Regalia for the foreseeable future.

And they don’t.

Gladio slathers the liquid thick, Ignis on hands and knees as he presses back into Gladio’s touch. The Shield slips a finger inside the tactician teasingly, moving as slow as he dares until he thinks Ignis might kick him again, more accented curses spoken under the man’s breath. Gladio’s cock threatens to betray him the more he watches Ignis’s hips move back and forth, and he finally presses the tip to his partner’s entrance, relishing in the sounds they both make as he enters him.

When Gladio begins to thrust, Ignis places a hand to the fogged window closest to him, smearing the condensation. He bites his lip, trying to stifle his own cries of pleasure.

“Let me hear you,” Gladio tries to order, but it comes out more as a plea. Ignis does cry out then, mouth digging into the arm he holds against the Regalia’s door to muffle the sound.

Gladio nearly comes from that alone, but he manages to hold back, slowing as a result. Chest leaning forward, he bites into Ignis’s shoulder to ground himself, and the advisor shudders, bucking needily.

“_More_,” Ignis demands. Gladio stops suddenly to grip one of the seats, taking in a lungful of air. Ignis is the only one who has ever driven him crazy like this, but he’s waited too damn long to lose control now. Unfortunately, the advisor doesn’t take kindly to the disruption and snarls, keening in frustration.

Before Gladio can fully understand what is happening, he’s falling back, catching himself on the door behind him as Ignis flips around, crouching like a cat ready to pounce.

“Ig—”

The advisor yanks him by the ankle so he lies flat, air rushing out of the Shield from the force of the movement. Gladio watches as Ignis positions himself over him, knees to either side of the larger man’s torso, angling back to slide onto the Shield’s still pulsing hard-on. Gladio reaches up to shove a fist into his mouth.

“Mmph—”

“Let me hear you,” Ignis purrs, throwing Gladio’s words back at him as he stakes a hand over the Shield’s sternum for support. Suddenly, they’re each two for two—the game is tied and they’re heading into overtime, but Gladio knows when he’s beat. The Shield slumps down, head knocking lightly against the Regalia’s interior as he struggles to keep from making a mess before Ignis can get off. He clasps his hands behind his head, hoping he looks like he’s relaxed and not holding on for dear life.

Ignis rides him without prompting, and Gladio thoroughly enjoys the show, scanning the advisor’s toned body as his muscles flex and relax with the dizzying effort. His hair has come free of its gel and now falls in his eyes, flaring out with each rise and fall of his hips. It’s clear from the way Ignis continues to dig his teeth into his lip that he’s barely hanging on too, and Gladio wants nothing more than to grab him and make him come undone in his hand, but instead he grips tight on Ignis’s thighs, secretly hoping it leaves bruises.

Their moans create an erotic harmony as Ignis bends at the waist, shooting an arm forward to brace himself, and the shock jolts through his arm and ends in-between his legs with a flourish and a loud cry.

One look at Ignis’s face and Gladio can’t take it anymore. “Shit—!” He feels himself release and Ignis tilts a little, swooning until he rests against the front seat with a satisfied sigh, breathing ragged.

Things are quiet for a minute, both of them basking in the cozy sensation of being the only two people in the world contained within the Regalia’s four doors. Eventually, their heartbeats return to their normal cadence and they share a look, mirroring the other’s smile. 

“Six, I needed that,” Gladio laughs. He is already trying to sit up and prop the door open to dispel some of the hot air that has the small space feeling like a sauna.

“We made quite a mess,” Ignis announces. He sounds more pleased than upset though. Gladio shakes his head, grinning in his agreement. “I suppose we should clean it up before we return to camp.” Feeling a little reckless, Gladio shrugs, reaching to find where his clothes have disappeared on the floorboard.

“Or we could take our time and make an even bigger mess,” the Shield proposes casually.

After scrounging for a minute (Ignis reaching across the center console to retrieve his glasses) Gladio stops, frowning. There, tucked beneath one of the seats, is a brown paper bag. Curious, he pulls it into his lap and opens it, staring dumbfounded at its contents.

Ignis adjusts his glasses, watching and waiting, patient as ever.

Gladio looks down, then up, then down again. Reaching inside, he pulls out a Leiden potato and blinks slow. When he glances back to Ignis, it’s like a lightbulb has gone off.

“You.” He gapes, and Ignis crosses one leg over the other, as calm and collected as if he were fully dressed. “You _planned_ this?”

“Six,” he says unapologetically, referring back to the conversation that started it all. “Besides, I couldn’t come back to camp empty handed. If you hadn’t followed, I would have handled things myself.” Ignis is succinct, practical—and Gladio can’t process the words coming out of his mouth.

“_Handled_ things?” When Ignis nods, Gladio’s eyes find the space between Ignis’s legs and he makes an indignant noise. “I better be the only one to handle that,” he grumbles.

That _damn_ smirk makes a reappearance, and Gladio thinks he needs to come up with more excuses for them to be out longer than expected—a flat tire, maybe.

Ignis is always one step ahead, and as he buttons his shirt and pulls his pants over his lap, he makes the nonchalant suggestion: “Shall we move this conversation elsewhere?”

“You’re the driver,” Gladio agrees easily. The smirk on Ignis’s face somehow deepens, growing more sinister. That familiar heat flickers in the Shield’s groin, embers still glowing. Gladio swallows.

They put themselves together and attempt to fix each other’s hair, laughing as they do so. After a few more kisses and wandering hands, they are fully dressed, and Ignis slides into the driver’s seat, purposefully leaving his suspenders askew (much to Gladio’s dismay). Turning the keys in the ignition, he throws the Regalia in drive and pulls onto the road, headlights illuminating the asphalt as it speeds beneath the tires.

After a few minutes of listening to the engine’s steady hum, Gladio finds one of Ignis’s hands and laces their fingers, bringing it to his mouth so he can kiss the backs of the tactician’s knuckles.

“So, about that diner counter…”

Ignis keeps his eyes on the road, answering without hesitation. 

“It’s never a good idea to distract the driver, Gladiolus.”

Gladio sees the corner of Ignis’s lips curl upwards and he cracks a window, leaning his head out into the cool night air, a bead of sweat sliding from his temple to his chin from the heat that flares in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> This author replies to all comments!
> 
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